Don't Leave Me
by Meowshmallowx
Summary: After waking from a dream about her father, King Alfor, Allura struggles to cope with the loss of her planet and people as well as her responsibilities on her own. Set before the end of season two.


"Father?"

King Alfor turned around, the weight on his brow disappearing at the sight of his little daughter.

"Allura! My sweet daughter, what are you doing here? Your ladies in waiting must be searching up a storm for you," he chided her gently, scooping her up into his arms.

The little princess giggled and pressed a tiny kiss to Alfor's nose. He smiled at her, eyes soft, and smoothed her shimmering white locks back from her face.

"I wanted to see you," she told him, crystalline eyes wide and sincere. "Mother said you were leaving again. Are you leaving again, Father? Are you?"

Alfor sighed.

"Oh, Allura, you know I have to." He shut his eyes. "Altea needs me, just as it does you and your mother, and it's our responsibility as its royalty to be there for the people. Besides, you'll have Mother with you, won't you?"

Allura pouted.

"Mother won't play with me like you do," she muttered. "Oh, Father, _please_ don't leave me!"

The king placed a large finger beneath his daughter's chin, tilting her little face up to meet her eyes. His face seemed to age years in just a few moments, stress cutting lines into his forehead and worry dulling the sparkle in his smile.

"You'll be fine without me, Allura. You're such a strong, brave, beautiful girl. I have complete faith in you."

He clasped Allura's hands in his own, squeezing them tightly, and she blinked, looking around. Flames consumed their surroundings, and what little air there was to breathe was clogged with smoke. She turned her head to face her father, eyes wide with panic and confusion.

But he was not there.

"Father?" she called, despair coloring her voice. "Father...?"

Allura woke with a soft gasp, her pillow damp with tears. Stifling a sob, she wiped at her wet cheeks and sat up, sliding her legs over the side of the bed. The mice squeaked sleepily, lifting their heads and blinking at her. She mustered a soothing smile, and they settled back down, two of them curling around one another.

 _What do I do?_ she first impulse was to go to Coran, but that hardly seemed fair—she leaned on him enough already, and he had lost a wife and unborn children coupled with the rest of Altea.

No, Coran wasn't an option, and the Paladins were under enough duress already. This burden was hers alone to bear. Allura closed her eyes, bowing her head, and rose to her feet. All she needed was something to drink and perhaps some food, and she would be ready to face another day of training the Paladins of Voltron.

Allura made her way to the kitchens, sniffling and blinking back more tears. She could not risk anyone catching her like this—she had to be a princess, a leader. Sucking in a sob, Allura pressed her palm to a cupboard. It slid open to reveal a wide array of gorgeous goblets, each set reserved for a different occasion. Most were cut to catch the light and shaped to fit the palm—but the ones that caught her eye were the deep rose-stained juniberry wine glasses for the berry festival. She herself had picked them one year, skipping through the markets to mingle with the people, and even when the store owner had tried to convince her to select something more "suitable for royalty", she has stubbornly insisted.

Allura smiled at the memory and reached for the glass, filling it halfway and taking a sip. Without warning, hot tears sprang to her eyes, bubbling over and dripping onto her nightgown. She dropped the glass onto the counter and snapped in half, crumpling to the floor. Sobs came in shaking waves, racking her body. She buried her face in her hands, muffling her choked, ragged gasps with her sleeve.

And then the light clicked on.

She froze, daring to peek through her fingers. Shiro stood in the doorway, hair sticking up in all directions. His lariark-in-frontal-beams expression was so comical that she nearly laughed out loud.

"Princess," he coughed, composing himself.

Allura hurriedly swiped away the tears with her sleeve and summoned a bright smile.

"Shiro," she greeted him, rising. "What are you doing up at this varga?"

Shiro eyed her warily, and it was only then—in the harsh light of the kitchen—that she noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

"I could ask you the same question." He kept his tone light and conversational, but she could hear the undercurrent of concern. "Couldn't sleep?"

Allura avoided his perceptive gaze, frowning. _She_ was the one meant to watch out for everyone else, not Shiro.

 _Then who is meant to look out for me?_ she wondered, feeling a pang of loss.

"I—" Her voice caught, and she glanced up at Shiro, who was watching her patiently. "Yes. And you, Shiro?"

Shiro nodded.

"I have a lot on my mind," he admitted, "and I suppose you do, too, Princess."

"Allura," she cut in. "You may—you may call me Allura."

Shiro smiled kindly.

"I probably shouldn't—not in front of the team, anyway. Lance would react badly," he chuckled. "I think it's fine right now, though, Pr—Allura."

It was silly, but she felt a part of her warm at the sound of her name.

"I think so," she agreed with a more genuine smile. "What's on your mind, then?"

"Zarkon, the Galra, Voltron...the works," he replied. "How about you?"

Allura hesitated.

"I suppose I'm—I'm anxious," she began haltingly. "Anxious and...lonely."

Shiro met her eyes and offered a warm smile.

"Nice to meet you, anxious and lonely," he joked softly, extending a hand to shake. "I'm here for you."

Allura looked from his hand to his face and back, startled—and then burst into laughter, her vision blurring with bittersweet tears. Still laughing, she took his hand and shook it.

"Thank you, Shiro," she murmured.

Shiro nodded.

"Any time, Allura. I'm here."

Allura beamed at him, and he beamed back, looking a decafeeb younger. Warmth blossomed in her chest.

 _I'm not alone._

* * *

Hope you liked the story (and that I got all those time measurements right)! Constructive criticism is a beautiful thing and always appreciated if you have the chance. Thank you for reading!


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